


New-Turned Nine

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Childhood, Gen, Gift Giving, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2020-02-16 03:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: "Sam has had birthday presents before, of course."





	New-Turned Nine

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for a [Sam Birthday Fic Fest](http://themegalosaurus.tumblr.com/birthday) in 2015; I had Sam's 9th birthday, as you can see.

Sam has had birthday presents before, of course. His childhood hasn’t been quite that bad. Sure, they tend to be kind of cheap: the kind of thing that some of the other kids he’s encountered might reject, those with the bright new trainers and the flashy watches and designer clothes. Mostly, he gets books. But that’s something he likes, something that makes sense for the long car journeys that make up his life; the long winters stuck in mouldering motels or the summers out under the trees keeping cool. And yeah, he can’t build up much of a collection - has to love them and leave them, keep his personal possessions small in volume and light in weight. But he doesn’t forget them. However battered or well-used, books are definitely a good gift, overall.

This year, though, Sam’s getting something else. He’s not sure exactly what it is: but he noticed the package in the back of the car as they unloaded last night, already wrapped in shiny paper, large and square and heavy to lift. The thought of it, of Dad having carefully picked something out, set it aside and brought it with them as they crossed the country in the past few weeks, makes Sam feel warm and happy inside. It’s not like he doesn’t know Dad loves them: it’s there in the way he looks at Dean when Dean’s talking tough, how he presses Sam close to him when he comes back from a hunt (something which, like so much else in Sam’s life, has made a lot more sense since the moment last December when he uncovered Dad’s diary and with it, the truth about his father’s job). But he’s never sure how much space he really occupies in Dad’s mind: how much room is left amidst the fretting and the fear and the constant, driving demand for revenge. This gift is a token of Sam’s importance, of what he means.

So Sam’s pretty excited to find out what it might be, this present for a boy new-turned nine. He’s sort of hoping for a microscope. It sounds dumb but it’s the right kind of size and weight for the box he found, and he _is_ interested in science and he was talking, a lot, a couple of towns back, about the beginner chem set that he tried out at Jack Clarkson’s house. He wasn’t sure how much Dad was listening to any of that, but then, maybe that’s the thing, maybe Dad does listen a lot more than he lets on. Maybe he was excited to hear how excited Sam was. Maybe he’s proud of the good grades Sam gets and the reports he leaves carefully folded at the top of Dad’s bag. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to say, in his messed-up awkward Dad kinda way, with this birthday treat.

Sam’s fizzing, then, when he wakes up in the morning and finds the box on the breakfast table in place of his bowl. Dad’s standing there with his coffee, looking as rough as he usually looks before noon, and Dean’s sitting in the opposite chair with a knowing grin. Sam’s not surprised: of course Dean helped Dad choose it, whatever it is. He shoots them both a smile and a thanks, slips open the paper with careful fingers; lifts it off, flattens it out and folds it up. There’s a plain cardboard box inside, which doesn’t give much of a clue, so Sam slides his fingers under the flap and opens it properly.

It’s a gun.

Sam’s stomach drops rapidly to somewhere around his knees, bottoms out and starts to do somersaults back on itself. He can feel his face go rigid and he hopes hopes hopes that the lid of the box has hidden his expression from Dad and Dean; that it’s able to cover him while he fights off the freeze on his features and rearranges them into something that ought to pass as a smile.

He looks up. “Thanks,” he says, in a voice that’s less certain than he’d intended it to be. Dean frowns, which means that he’s not carried off the lie; but Dad, still sleepy, or just more willing to be convinced, doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. Instead, he steps over and claps Sam on the back.

“You’re growing up, son,” he says. “And I know you know what happened with that thing in your closet back in Maine.”

Sam doesn’t know, not exactly: just that there was something looking at him with big bright eyes when he was trying to sleep; and then that he mentioned it to Dad, and next day it was gone.

“You’re big enough to start to handle this stuff for yourself,” Dad’s continuing. “I don’t want you to be scared. You and your brother, you’re going to be able to look after yourselves.”

Sam looks up. Dean is looking right at him, eyes wide, on the edge of his seat. Sam can feel Dean _willing_ him to want this, to be okay; not to ruin Dad’s surprise, not to kick up a fuss.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam says.

“No worries, Sammy,” and Dad ruffles his hair. “We’ll start with some target practice tonight after school.”

Sam rides all the way into school on the bus that morning clutching his backpack tight to his chest and trying to squash down the bile rising up in his throat. He’s afraid of the gun Dad bought him: afraid of it as a weapon, and of what it means. No more safety net, no sitting out. No more pretending that he doesn’t really know what’s going on around them; no lying to himself, straining to forget it, acting like it’s all OK. No more of any of it. This is it. Nine years old, and Sam’s no longer a baby. He’s got to grow up.

**Author's Note:**

> This was transferred over from my Tumblr: you can find the original post [here](https://themegalosaurus.tumblr.com/post/120395191408/new-turned-nine).


End file.
